Never Shall We Die
by Wispa
Summary: Wily and wayward, Cat Dowell was just the pirate to test the nerves of Teirm. But when she sets out to settle a simple thieve's debt, she unknowingly stumbles upon a memory that she had forgotten long ago...
1. Prologue

Anyway, **please review**! I really really want feedback, more than you can imagine. o.o I didn't listen to this soundtrack over and over again for nothing, no matter how terribly short this chapter is. Please, I'm begging you.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Eragon or PotC (I threw in one or two lines from the movies), but I can dream, can't I?

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**PROLOGUE**

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Both men and women alike turned their heads as a disgruntled, threadbare young maiden stormed down the dock, muttering every curse there was to be muttered beneath her breath. Birds squawked as she stomped past and eyebrows twitched up incredulously at her appearance. She wore two small, ripped slippers that clapped against the aging wood, and her pink dress was wet and torn, hanging in streamers only to about mid-calf. Her wild crimson hair was in a terrible disarray, giving the impression that perhaps at one time it was arranged in a neat bun, but had come a long way since then. Stormy cerulean eyes were pasted in wide ovals on her pouting face, her brows drawn together in a frown. "Damn men," she mumbled to herself, however loud enough for those she passed to hear.

"That's what'cha get, you little stowaway!" a man yelled at her from the ship docked there.

The woman lashed around on her heel, and thrust a stiff finger at the man leaning over the starboard side of the ship. "What'd I get? A free ride from Aroughs to Teirm?" she screeched back. She flailed her arms up as if in surrender and began to walk backwards slowly. "You done gave me what I had comin', eh?"

The ship's captain cried back with blasphemous accusations, but their vulgarity was lost on the young woman. She only rolled her eyes and shook her head, letting her arms fall back to her sides. After hiding out in every crawl-hole that ship had to offer, and for months on end, she had become accustomed to the way these sailing-types were. And although she was reluctant to admit it, she had picked up a few of their uncouth habits herself; namely swearing and a crude accent. The angry tirade the captain was demonstrating was but a humorous show for the woman. She smiled with all of her teeth, laughing a bit, and tilted back on one heel, whirling around confidently on it. Gripping a handful of skirt in each fist, she tossed them about playfully and continued on her way down the dock, the eyes of local shippers fixated on her as she skipped away whistling a pirate's tune.

The Braying Donkey Inn was as loud as its title suggested, if not more. It was situated on the more riotous side of sophisticated Teirm, in the middle of the slums and the skid rows. It surprised the pinkly-clad woman that for such a flamboyantly filthy place, it was also one of the best known and most popular. Even though the entire city knew that was a common lair for local criminals, most officials never bothered to approach it and overthrow those notorious troublemakers. It was too dangerous to be a benefactor in a crowd of criminals, and—as the more the woman thought about it, the more she realized—a defenseless female. She had already wasted her dagger trying to dislodge the captain of the previous ship from her way, but her aim was off and she instead hurled it into the sea. And anyone who had angered her in her lifetime knew that she was as weak as her frame suggested.

But for some odd reason, she felt safe in the shadow of the Braying Donkey. She stood at the bottom of its steps, hands on hips, contemplating her knew position in life. Baroness to beggar, what a plummet.

Just as she hiked up what was left of her ragged pink skirt, the door to the inn swept open and a drunken fool was tossed out onto the walk, narrowly missing the woman standing there. She quickly leapt out of the way with a yelp, staggering backwards into the scanty shrubbery. Her lips curled in a disgusted snarl and her tongue slid out of her mouth as if she were gagging, watching the drunk retch all over the street. His hair was plastered against his forehead and he was covered from head to toe in filth, and even as he poured out his rotten insides, he laughed drunkenly. The woman winced with repulsion and turned to face the window next to her head.

What she saw there was even more hideous than the drunken idiot soiling the street. The woman's face immediately flashed into a look of horror and surprise, running what was once a manicured finger over her cheek. What she saw was her reflection, and after months of stowing aboard a leaking ship, the woman was astonished at what she had managed to look like. Her hair really was something, and the black circles under her eyes stood out blatantly on her pale face. Even her light sprinkle of feathers seemed out of place on her sunken features.

Just as she leaned in for a better look at herself, she caught sight of something hurled in her direction, an object, by what she had glimpsed. Paranoia rushing over her, she ducked down quickly, hands clasped over her had just in time to hear the sound of glass shattering above her. The sound was followed by a heavy item collapsing on her back and rolling to the ground, smashing her toes. She hissed and winced at the sting, as well as the peppering of shattered glass on her rear. Hesitantly, she picked a stray piece form her mess of curls, holding it to her face and leaning her left eye towards it, as if inspecting it. Cocking a brow, she slowly stood and looked through the sharp hole in the window, flinching as one last shard fell onto the windowsill.

Stooping down, the woman delicately picked up the object, which was a half-empty bottle of rum, by the neck and held it up to her face. After studying it for a moment's time, she peered around its spherical edge at the boisterous party of drunks at nearest table. With a smirk, her reason dithered, she quickly chucked the bottle back through the window, ducking and running just as it collided with the skull of a burly, drunken gent.

The woman stifled a giggle and bit her lower lip and she trotted up the Inn's stairs, taking in a deep breath as her hand gripped the doorknob. Biting her lip, she leaned back to peer through the window, giggling at the aftermath of her immaturity. But she quickly sobered and turned back to the front door, eyes cast heavenward. With false piety, she put her other hand to her heart and nodded to the sky. "This be the day that Lady Catahe Dowell looses her moral purity," she said. "Aye, this be the—"

Before she finished her sentence, the door she had been clinging to flew open, and Lady Catahe Dowell toppled helplessly to the splintery floor of the Braying Donkey Inn.

Cat laid there for many moments trying to muster her composure, a deep crimson creeping up into her face. Her hands were pink and raw, but she braced them against the floor anyway, pushing herself up with a grunt. Dull black boots then assailed her vision, and she paused to slide her gaze up the body of the man standing there. She suddenly felt very meek and vulnerable in his shadow, even more so when she realized the dim light from the inn concealed his features.

The man offered her his hand, which she reluctantly accepted, and hauled her forcefully to her feet. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he asked, his voice rough and gravelly. She felt his gaze comb her body, evaluating her mussed hair and shredded outfit. Low chuckles escaped his lips. "A common harlot out so early in the evenin'?"

Cat thrust out her chin in defiance, appalled to be called such a demeaning atrocity. "Apologies," she said, halfheartedly, "but I ain't for sale." Head held high despite how she trembled, Cat tried to slide past the man, but his wide shoulders forbade her from doing so.

"Aren't ya now?" the man asked, humored. Cat only stood, glaring at the man in hopes that it was scare him off, but it only seemed to amuse him. "Come, lass; why don't we go mind a pint or two?"

"Excuse me?"

The man chuckled. "Lemme gets you a pint of rum, eh?"

Cat opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead just nodded her head in understanding. But the man seemed to take it as an answer to his question, and with no further ado he roped his arm around her and placed his palm on the small of her back, giving her a push forward. She leaned backwards in reluctance to face the crowd of rambunctious felons, but the man gave her a few sarcastic words of encouragement and continued to shove her forward. She kept her elbows pressed to her sides and her palms raised as if in surrender, delicately meandering in and out of gaps between drunks. Her face was etched in intense dislike at the strong scent of alcohol, as well as some of the comprisable positions she saw people locked into. Good gods, what had she gotten herself into?

Cat let out a pent-up gulp of air as she collapsed on a barstool, running her fingers through her hair. She paid no attention to the man she had met as he sat down beside her and ordered two pints, and instead took to untangling her near nonexistent bun. It felt good to have her thick crimson curls enswathe her shoulders again.

"What's your name, lass?" the man asked, taking a hearty swallow of his rum.

It was as she watched him down the liquid—his throat bobbing—that Cat realized her overbearing thirst. Glancing at the silvery barrel of her own rum, she tossed her hair from her face and took the cup in her hands. She glanced at the man with arrogance gleaming from her hooded eyes. "Cat Dowell," she said, and subsequently took a swig of rum.

The man chuckled wholeheartedly as her eyes bulged from their sockets and her lips pursed, pushing the remaining rum to her bulging cheeks. Laboriously pulling the pint to her mouth, she gagged and let the liquid spill messily into it, her teeth bared and her face twisted as if she had eaten something terribly sour. "Oh gods," she said. "Was that fire?"

The man continued to laugh. "I 'spose you ain't from 'round here, then, Miss Dowell."

She shook her head and shivered at the taste that still lingered in her mouth.

"The name's Glaw," the man said, taking a mocking swig of his rum. "I'd expect you'd know lil' of me, seeing as you ain't a regular customer."

Cat shook her head again while she poured her drink out on the already-soggy floor beneath them. And she didn't exactly want to know what had made it so soggy.

Once she was finished, she placed the bottle back on the countertop and wiped her hand on her soiled dress and then extended it to Glaw. "Aye," she said, her eyes hooded. "I hail from Aroughs, and the House of Dowell."

Glaw smirked smugly and bowed his head teasingly. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, which rested on the ring her father had given her on her twenty-first birthday. Frowning with startle, he pushed her hand back to look at it, his leer returning as he admired the emblem stamped on the the ring. "Ya don't say," he said, his eyes flickering up to hers. She cocked an eyebrow, feeling the effects of the small amount of liquor she had consumed. Her confidence was beginning to overflow. "Ya ain't kiddin', neither," he said, awed. "Why lady, you're a common pirate!"

"Imma what?" Cat asked, her perplexed frown over exaggerated.

Glaw twirled the ring decisively in his fingers. "Say, lass, how'd you like t'accompany me 'n the boys? You ain't afeared of a little trouble, ain't ya?"

Cat cocked her head to the side. "I ain't afeared of nothin'," she said with sincere certainty. She extended her hand to shake Glaw's, but withdrew it quickly. "But what'll I be gainin' from this respectable accord?"

Glaw leaned in with a teasing sneer. "All tha' wild freedom you be lustin' after," he said.

Cat stared daringly into Glaw's eyes. "'Freedom', says you," she said, then added a satisfied smile. "'Aye', says I."

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**You like? You don't like? Comments, questions? _Please, review_! (if you do, I'll make sure to check out your stories, which ususally gives me inspiration) I know this isn't really the best I've written nor is it the most exciting chapter, but it'll get better, I promise.**


	2. Hoist the Colors

A/N: Well, my author's note last chapter mysteriously was deleted halfway, so I apologize for any confusion that might have caused anyone. O.o But I'll be kind this time and keep this one short and sweet and just ask you to **please review**, although this chapter is a little bland in some parts, imo. But what do I know, I'm the author. Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon or those clever PotC lines I smuggled in here. :)

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**HOIST THE COLORS**

_a few months later_

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"_The king and his men_

_Stole the queen from her bed_

_And bound her in her bones_

_The seas be ours and by the powers_

_Where we will we'll roam."_

Cat casually leaned against a stone wall, one foot braced against it and the other set firmly on the ground. Half of her was nestled comfortably in the shadows of the night, while the other half was illuminated by a greasy lantern dangling above. Her floppy sunhat was tipped discreetly over her eyes as she watched three prison guardsmen argue in hushed voices about an article they had lost; a ring of keys, as it was. A devious smirk spread over her bowed face, her eyes sparkling with a wily glimmer. Her fingers rustled in the pocket of her oversized vest, toying with the object that was bulging there. The grin on her features never failing and her gaze never faltering, she picked up her song again, her voice bolder but still subtle.

"_Yo, ho, haul together,_

_Hoist the colors high_

_Heave, ho, thieves and beggars_

_Never shall we die."_

Cat's eyes followed the flustered guards as they pushed each other into a run, their effects rattling as if it were a melody to the woman's quiet requiem. The last note to the song faded away as the men disappeared into the inky darkness, and the woman gave a soft chuckle and shook her head at their ignorance. With a smirk, she fished around in the pocket of her vest, her mischievous smile growing as she withdrew a tarnished chain with a plethora of keys dangling from it. Whistling the next stanza to the song, she hooked the chain around her finger and twirled the bulk around leisurely. Glancing cautiously at both ends of the street, she swaggered arrogantly across it and to the abandoned prison gate that loomed there.

The verses Cat whistled died off as a bell tolled in the distance, heralding the approach of dawn. The thief smiled with all of her teeth at the consoling sound, then snatched the twirling keys in her fist, giving a soft chuckle. If Glaw and his notorious crowd of miscreants had managed to get themselves out of their prison cells with ease, she knew that they would be arriving at this gate in a matter of minutes. The midnight toll of the bell was their international alarm clock, and because this marked the change of the guard, Cat knew if they didn't act soon it would be the demise of them all. Unfortunately, she mused, Glaw was the epitome of tardiness.

The sound of accessories jangling in the background was suddenly obvious to Cat as she snapped out of her reveries. Her eyes shifting back and forth beneath the drooping rim of her hat, she frowned with perplexity and tightened her grip on the ring of keys. With a touch of reluctance, she peeked as subtly as she could over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she dug her gaze into the darkness. And suddenly the rattling of metal upon metal stopped, and the woman's expression widened into one of horror and dread. Her teeth ground against each other and her breath was pressed from her lungs, the color draining away from her tanned face.

Half a dozen guardsmen gathered in the street behind Cat. "There, at the gate! Halt, villain!"

Cat whipped back around, her wide gaze boring into the ground as she panted with anxiety. Her fingers wrapped constrictively around the keys' chain as her mind churned for a quick, easy escape plan that would work flawlessly. She could hear the guards as they charged towards her, the peal of weapons being drawn crying out through the street. Squeezing her eyes close and gritting her teeth as she tried to get her mind to think straightly, Cat swore under her breath with panic. Dismay poisoned her mind as she realized that there was no simple way to evade her situation without honoring her duty, and with determination seeping into her veins, she turned again to look over her shoulder. With her jaw set and adrenaline slowly beginning to pump through her, she slid her other hand into her vest, gripping the small, tarnished hilt that rested there.

"Cat!"

The addressed woman whipped her head around, startled, to see Glaw and four other shadows racing in her direction on the other side of the gate. Her hand released her hold on the hilt and instead gripped the bars as Glaw collapsed on the gate before her. He rested his head between two of the bars, his breath ragged and reeking of alcohol. Despite that, Cat leaned in with desperation gleaming in her blue eyes. "Glaw," she said, "wha'do we do?"

The two of them turned to look as the bloody red uniforms of the prison guards approached them. "Cat," Glaw panted, gripping her wrist with crushing strength, "get us the hell outta here. We've got twice tha' many on our hides as it are."

Cat swallowed and nodded, shaking the keys out and holding them up to her face. Switching her gaze from the gate's keyhole to the clutter of keys in her shaking hand, she inspected them with slow intricacy. She bit her lip, as she was wont to do in situations such as these, trying to disregard the sound of additional soldiers approaching from inside the prison.

"Cat!" Glaw bellowed, snapping her out of her search. Quickly she nodded her head and selected a key, thrusting it into the keyhole as she glanced over her shoulder at the guards. Wincing and whispering pleading prayers as she tried to turn the key, her heartbeat skyrocketed as she realized it wasn't the right fit. Nervously glancing over her shoulder, she gave the key one last twist and yanked it out, her numb fingers selecting another key and following the same procedure as before. But it was to no avail.

Cat cursed and wrenched the key. "Come on," she murmured frantically.

Suddenly Glaw's hand snaked between the bars and snatched the keys from Cat's hands. Grunting with frustration, he yanked the it out and tossed them all into the shadows, much to Cat's protest. Telling her with profane words to just comply, he grabbed her vest and pulled her to the gate, his hand digging in it until his fumbling fingers found her knife. Pulling it out despite Cat's outspoken opinion, he shoved it into the keyhole and withdrew his hand, telling Cat to quickly pick the lock. Giving a start, she retreated backwards instinctively and glanced over her shoulder again, her face melting with apprehension at the nearness of the six soldiers. Quickly giving into Glaw's frenetic prompts, she turned back to the gate and braced herself against the dagger, struggling as she wrenched it around. And somehow the lock clicked as the knife twisted in a satisfying circle, unlocking the gate.

"Cat, watch your hide!"

Startled, Cat turned her head to look over her shoulder, her eyes growing wide and gasping in surprise. With a rush of unforeseen adrenaline, she leapt to the side and plastered her back against the prison wall just as an Imperial guard brought his blade down against the gate. Panting heavily, she pushed herself from the wall and smashed her foot into his groin. As he doubled over in pain, she hurled herself at the lock, laboriously wrenching out the dagger that was poised stiffly there. Turning back to face the guard, she gritted her bared teeth and dug the blade into his shoulder, letting it sit before the other guards descended upon them. Casting them a sharp look, she placed her foot on the man's chest and heaved the knife from his flesh. Wasting no time, she raced towards her comrades, who shouted at her with blasphemous encouragement. They pried the heavy iron gates open enough for her to slip through, and once she had, they immediately shoved it back into the face of the other five soldiers. The heavily wheezing, Cat smiled as the men shook the gates, cursing as they discovered it was locked, and the keys were no where to be found.

"Come on, you little bugger," Glaw growled, pulling at Cat's elbow. "The quickest way out is over the wall."

Cat turned her attentions away from the soldiers and let her eyes trail up on the uneven white wall of the prison. It was nigh five men tall and near as thick, but Cat's doubt was overridden by the domineering gleam in Glaw's eyes. She remained stoic even as he sprinted off after the other inmates, then turned her face to the five guards at the gate. With a sly grin, she blew them a mocking kiss and savored their angry replies, only frowning as one waved at her and pretended to catch the kiss. But her perplexity was erased as the sounds of accessories and commanding shouts reached her ears.

Turning around slowly, Cat's face melted into alarm as her eyes met the sight of at least a dozen soldiers rallying in the passageway behind her. Torches illuminated the bleak night and cast demonic shadows on the bloody red uniforms of the men, who had paused as they sighted Cat. As the commander bellowed for them to catch her, the soldiers surged forward and drew their gleaming blades, outmatching the small bloody knife Cat grasped. The woman realized this with a sense of dread, then bit her lower lip and leapt into action, racing to the wall that Glaw had nearly overcome.

It was almost as difficult to climb as it had seemed. By the time Cat had nearly reached the top of it, her limbs were limp and shaking, her strength only barely holding out. Her nails screeched against the stone and her hands slipped constantly, always accompanied by a string of curses. Her teeth were bared and clenched, her jaw bowed out and set in an extravagant frown of determination, scowling at the wall just before her face. Grunting as she slipped, her struggle was interrupted by Glaw leaning over the wall, extending his hand to her and yelling at her to take it.

Arrows began to pepper the wall just as his hand clasped over her forearm, acquiring puzzled glances from Cat as she quickly began to climb again. But just as she braced her feet against a small outcrop, she felt a sharp and searing pain shoot up her leg, and she subsequently let out a tortured scream. Her footing faltered and the injured leg slipped limply down the wall, her arm sliding through Glaw's grip. His fingers tightened around her wrist, but as she tried to continue on, her other leg slipped and struggled against the smooth surface of the stone, shards of the rock rolling down the wall. She glanced down over her arm at the ground many feet below her and swallowed, turning fearful eyes up to her only lifeline. Glaw.

But almost immediately, he let out a cry of agony as an arrow pierced his shoulder, his hand flying to the wound. Cat screamed his name as his fingers left her wrist, leaving her to plummet down the wall. Her hands fumbled for something to grab onto, her fingers brushing against Glaw's as he tried in vain to catch her. A wild cry of agony escaped her lips, but her screams were lost to a deaf void as she sped breathlessly down the side of the white stone, tears wrenched from her eyes and vile butterflies spoiling her stomach. Suddenly she was aware of the knife in her hand, and without further thought, she crushed it against the wall, her jaw clenching as it drew a thin white line down the rock. It was then she realized that she could not save herself.

There was a moment of silence as Cat's hands let go of the blade, and her cries ceased. All she could feel was her hair flaying about her head, her eyes raging like blue pools of determination, staring unseeingly into the ashes of the night sky. And then she hit the ground.

She landed gracelessly into a puddle, her back slamming against the cold earth. Water splashed up into her pain-wrought face, her fingers clawing at the ground as she hissed in pain. Her back pounded with unmerciful torture before succumbing to an enswathing numbness that drained away the pain. The sensation willed Cat to arduously perch herself up by her elbow, rolling to one side and gritting her teeth to ward of the sting. Her brows drew into a deep scowl for a moment, then relaxed as the hot sting fizzled away into sharp prickles.

Then suddenly a foot was on her chest, shoving her back onto the ground to stare into the face of a weatherworn soldier. He leered dominantly at her as he brought his sword's point at her neck. "I got you now, little lady. That's what you get for meddling with the Crown," he said.

Cat's eyes shifted to her side, where her outstretched arm rested only hairs away from her dagger. Turning her narrowed gaze back to the soldier's face, she bit her lower lip and glared sternly at him, contemplating her options. His brows quirking into a frown, he looked in the direction of her knife, his expression turning into both surprise and humor. Shaking his head at her as she gazed at the blade, he began to tell her not to bother, but was caught off guard when she rolled to her stomach, scrambling in the weapon's direction. She ignored his shouts as she slapped her hand over the hilt, rolling back onto her stomach and lurching to her feet. The man was barely a foot away from her, and she took advantage of his position to run to his side, her hand pushing against his shoulder as she plowed her knife into his wide stomach. He gagged and dropped his sword, his hands gripping his middle as Cat leaned into his ear, tenderly brushing his hair out of her way. "An' that," she whispered, "is what you get for meddlin' with Cat Dowell."

When he glanced with horrification at her, Cat only smirked wickedly and snapped her hand around his thick neck. Her uneven nails dug into his skin in annoying pricks as she tilted his head up, her eyes flicking up to see the other imperial soldiers regrouping and coming her way. She looked back down at the pain-stricken man at her mercy and curled her fist around the dagger in his stomach, ripping it out mercilessly. Wheeling him around to face his comrades, she held the gory blade to his throat, her head resting next to his. The men halted immediately as she skimmed her gaze over them, a criminal gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"Ye can come'n get me, fellas," she dared, pausing for many moments as she shifted behind the man's back, "but you'll have ta come through this kindly gent first." At her last word, she grunted as she strained against his bulk, shoving him into the arms of his fellow soldiers. They caught him as he fell limply forward, momentarily ignorant to the young woman racing through the passageway that had come through. For those few seconds they were only aware of the second-hand, broken arrow the protruded from his back.

Cat sprinted with as much life as she could muster through the airy hallways of Teirm's prison, her heart pounding and her lungs burning. She glanced behind her to see that, albeit a distance away, all of the men had spurred into action and had picked up her trail with uncanny speed. She cocked her head and gritted her teeth with frustration, giving a sigh and pumping her legs faster.

"Out of me bloody way!" she snarled loudly when she come upon a party of soldiers obliviously blocking the hall. Curses seeped from her lips as she turned her shoulder towards them, jabbing her way through and using her stiffened arms to shove them to the side.

They watched perplexedly as she ran past, only to be unduly surprised again as a dozen other soldiers stampeded though them.

Cat slid on her heel and whirled around to face an empty hallway, quickly darting into it. She pushed her back against one of the walls and cautiously peered around the corner, snapping back into a stiff position as the flock of imperial men raced past her. They seemed to stream by like a bloody river, the glow of the moon and their torches casting an ominous glow on them all. Cat felt a shiver tickle her spine as her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, her eyes wide as they followed the flow of the soldiers. Swallowing as they continued through the intersection, she tilted her head up to face the ceiling, closing her eyes gratefully and letting loose a sigh.

Suddenly she shrieked with horror as someone clasped their hands around her arms and wrenched her around the corner, slamming her up against a pristine white wall. One hand closed over her mouth to muffle her panicked screams while the other kept one side of her pinned with resilient strength. Determination and rashness pumping through her blood, she gripped the dagger ensnared in her fingers, previously forgotten, and thrust it beneath the person's arm in hopes it would pierce their stomach. But with cunning accuracy, her wrist was caught by the hand that had been enveloping her mouth. She hissed with impatience and tried to jerk her hand away, but her captor's grip was solid.

"You don't want to be doing that," a masculine voice warned.

Cat struggled against the man holding her, muttering foul curses beneath her breath. Her auburn curls hung like drawn curtains over her face as she glared heatedly into the hidden face of her captor, hiding her smirk beneath a glower. With rapid succession, she whipped her knee up in the direction of the man's sensitive region, knowing she had done the right thing as he leapt out of the way and released her shoulder. Now being free from the weight that had pinned her against the wall, Cat leapt up wrapped her other hand around her knife, using all of her remaining might to try to pull and wriggle it loose.

Quickly the man leapt back to his prey, his hand squeezing her upper arm and throwing her remorselessly against the wall. His power alone knocked the blade from Cat's hand and left her wheezing, her hair plastered gracelessly against her face. He cupped his fists around her sprawled arms, leaning in and bearing his strength down upon her bones.

"I told you, you don't want to be dong that," he said again, hinted with an almost wicked humor.

Cat glared and grimaced at him at the same time. "Why be that?" she panted. Her eyes trailed down him. "You ain't…you ain't a eunuch, are ye?"

"No," the man replied, "and I'd prefer to stay that way." A white smile pierced the darkness and met Cat's uncertain expression, her brows twitching into a frown. She didn't believe him.

As the man as turned his attentions to a commander in the outlying intersection, Cat's eyes shifted to the hallway behind them. Eyeing the empty passage, Cat took the opportunity to break away and try to run past the man, but he only caught her in his arms and pushed her back against the wall. She struggled and began to shout curses at him, trying to free her hands from his solidified grip.

"Not so fast, wench," the man said in a hissing tone, keeping her reined in. "What's your name?"

Cat immediately ceased her swearing, muttering only a quick condemning phrase beneath her breath. With a resounding peal, a dagger was immediately placed at her neck, piercing her filthy skin. She clenched her teeth and fixed her jaw, glaring defiantly up into the shadowed face of the man holding her. She had yet to be defeated.

Her eyes bore into what she thought to be the man's face. "Funny," she said mockingly, "I though' ye'd recognize me. I'm nothin' but the most notorious woman ta ever pillage poor, pathetic Teirm." She smiled wickedly, teasingly, knowing very well it was a flat lie.

"I asked you what your name was," the man growled, tugging at her arms and therefore her body, willing her into submission. His face leaned into the light as he yanked at her, revealing the face of a young man framed by dark, disheveled locks.

Suddenly the small troop of soldiers swarmed the cove she and the man rested in, their weapons ready. Their eyes were fixed on the woman, some shifting their gaze to the man who held her. Cat looked with profound anger between the two parties, finally wrenching out of her captor's grip and turning sideways to face the others. Staring crossly at the shady ceiling as they took her into custody, Cat was caught off guard when the dark-haired man lashed out and pushed her left sleeve up, pulling that hand to him. He snapped her wrist around to reveal a tattoo that perfectly mimicked the marking on Cat's ring; the mark of a supposed pirate. She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in annoyance.

The man glanced up with her with an expression of surprise. "Pirate," he said, as if awed by the obvious detail.

Cat sneered at him, assuming as much smug dignity as she could under the eyes of them all. "Why, yes," she said. "I'm Cat Dowell."

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Cat lay sprawled out on her hay-strewn prison floor, basking in the sunlight that streamed in from the cell's small, barred window. Staring blankly at the ceiling above her, she absently twirled her necklace around her finger, making it a subconscious game to distract her. On instinct, she snatched the jewel from its path and engulfed it in her fist, closing her eyes as she felt a churning endurance rush through her. It seemed that it, like her lip-biting habit, gave her the vigor to go on when she was in such demeaning situations such as these. It had been her mother's--a family heirloom, it was told--and she had given it to Cat before she passed away. "To give you strength when you are weak," she said. "Never be without it."

Cat brought the gem to her bared teeth and chewed inattentively on it, contemplating all possible aspects of her situation. She'd been told that despite her immoral standing as a petty thief, she was also the target of a pursuit initiated by her worried father and would be sent home as quickly as they could get her there. Cat groaned out loud at the prospect, knowing that there would be as much chance for her to escape from that journey as it was her prison cell.

"Psst, Cat!" a voice whispered hoarsely. "Meow!"

Cat frowned from beneath her hat (which had been respectably retrieved boy some obliging soldiers), her eyes turning to see giggling shadows blocking out her sunlight. Her frown deepening, she slowly sat up and propped herself up by her hands, squinting at the figures huddled around the cell window. They were yowling.

A dubious smile spread beneath the floppy rim of her cap. "Glaw?" she asked, disbelieving. "Is that you howling at me?"

"Aye, lass," Glaw replied leaning his head against the bars of the window. "Hey there, would'ya mind handin' me my effects? I buried them beneath the wall."

Cat tipped back her hat and gaped at him. "Your effects? That wouldn't happen t'include me, would it?"

"It wouldn't."

There was a tense silence as Cat glowered at the man, her eyes raging like the ocean in a squall. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed decisively, giving the older man a sarcastically acquiescing smile. Her boots whispering against the floor as she stood, she trudged over to the loose stone Glaw directed her to, just below the window. Scowling, she brushed the hay away with her gloved hands, then cupped them around the slightly protruding edge of the stone. Giving a grunt, she slid it to the side, its surface screeching against the floor and leaving a thin white line in its path. Cat reached her hands into the deep hole, gawking at the amount of loot stashed there. She knew that Glaw and the others had been arrested for pillaging a merchant's caravan--for it was her idea--but she didn't understand how they had managed to stow it away here. Her fingers clawed at the amount of items buried there, her eyes bulging her mouth agape.

"Hurry, lass!" Glaw hissed. "Shove it in ya hat there and hand it up!"

"Where did all of this come from?" Cat asked, astonished.

"Anywhere and everywhere," Glaw replied. "That be most o'what you missed out on." He smiled roguishly.

Snapping her appalled gaze away from him, Cat plowed her hands into the stash and pulled out handfuls of treasure, hauling them into her hat. Striding with her head high to the window, her jaw cocked with annoyance, she placed the bulging hat angrily onto the sill. Glaw gave her a knowing smirk as she stood there stiffly, giving him an innocent shrug and expectant look. "And me lasses," he prompted, grinning as Cat frustratedly handed him his swords.

The sounds of footsteps could be heard in the hall by her cell, compelling the men to quickly disperse. Glowering as they disappeared, she gripped the bars of the window, craning to get a glimpse over the sill. "This is mutiny!" she cried. "Mutiny!"

She was startled to see Glaw peek back around the window's corner and give her a yellow, rotten smile through his scraggly goatee. Perking up his eyebrows and his lips, he shrugged at her and squatted, owning an air of smug deviance. "Don' take it the wrong way, lassie," he said. "How's this: you pay the debt ya owe us an' we'll hand ya over a full portion of the booty? An' maybe if ye're a good girl, I'll be generous an' find'ja your very own ship. The _Dragon Wing_, no less. She'll be yars if you can getcha self outta here and pay back that mean debt." He smiled deridingly.

"How good?"

Glaw stopped as he began to stand, crouching back down and squinting at her perplexedly. "What?" he asked.

Cat pulled herself as close to the window as she could, desperation gleaming in her eyes. "Double or nothin', Glaw. Please, I'm beggin'," she pleaded.

Glaw sighed and glared at the heavens. "Cat, that's what gotcha where ye are now, darhlin'. Don' ask me to further depreciate ya." He glanced at her frantic expression, petting his goatee with faux sophistication. An arrogant smirk slid onto his lips and he gave Cat a wily look, scooting in closer to her. "Well, if yar truly serious 'bout this double or nothin' foolishness, then mayhap I have somethin' you could redeem yarself with." The two leaned in as closely as they could, Glaw whispering embroidered legends into the ear of the anxious Cat. A smile barely quirked her features once the man drew back, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Alalëa?" Cat asked, eager.

"Aye, Alalëa," Glaw said, nodding his head decisively.

Cat smiled cunningly as Glaw climbed to his feet and chuckled at her, wishing her the best of luck to her sorry self. She leaned over the windowsill to watch him as he scuttled off, ill-gotten goods rattling in his pockets, and smiled roguishly to herself. She'd show them what a woman can do.

"What might that be?" the man's voice asked A look of surprise shadowing her usually carefree face, Cat whirled around to see the man at her cell door, one hand casually resting on the bars. The woman grimaced as she realized it was her captor from the previous night, his head nodding towards the treasure hole at Cat's feet. Dread washed over her as she dictated that this was just the silver lining her day needed.

"I'm diggin' me way out," she said, her brows cocked and her eyes hooded arrogantly. She swaggered slowly towards him, her hand running along the bars of her cell. With a flutter of unease, she wondered how long he had been there.

"Is that so," the man said. "And how are you managing to accomplish that?"

Cat blinked slowly, dryly, as she drew up just in front of him. "Wit' m' teeth, of course," she said, wiggling her eyebrows wryly.

The man stared with lack of amusement at her smug features. "How very ladylike," he remarked. Sighing and shifting his weight, he assumed an aura of icy authority, his dark eyes staring daringly into Cat's. "My name is Murtagh, a servant of our king. Despite what you may think, I have only come by to visit you because I am interested in what you may know about Varden sympathizers. I've been looking for a certain book, the _Domia abr Wyrda_, and there's only one man we know of that owns it." He paused with an air of suspense. "Jeod Longshanks."

Cat shifted her eyes from side to side as the man stared at her expectantly. "The _Domia abr Wryda_?" she asked, her expression etched with startle.

"Yes."

Cat let her gaze drift to the ground, her fingers drumming the steel bars as she evaluated her newfound situation. "Why," she said, "would I, but a humble pirate, be of service t'ya? Pirate's know nothin' of _books_." A chuckle escaped her throat.

Murtagh leaned in closer, his voice dropping low with confidentiality. "You're the pirate that has repeatedly intercepted Longshank's ships, are you not? A ship with a flag that bears that mark," he pointed to her wrist, "has been spotted seizing his deliveries constantly. Someone who knows his trade routes that well must have some insight."

"Aye, that be I," she said, a waver of uncertainty in her voice. Cocking a brow, she quickly changed the subject and asked cattishly, "What be th' motive behind your wantin' this book?"

Murtagh paused hesitantly before continuing. "It contains the histories of this land and its origins. It also contains maps that we have not seen before; maps of other lands."

"I see," Cat said slowly, thinking deeply. "That's very interestin'."

The man's voice was hardly a whisper anymore. "Get that book, and the king will grant you full pardon and a generous purse," he said. "As well as his…abundant thanks." At his last words, Murtagh frowned, as if troubled by something.

"So that's it, then?" Cat asked, offended. "Does 'e really think that purses're th'only things that will win a thief's heart?"

"And a pardon," Murtagh reminded.

"Pirates don' need pardons," Cat said, a smug smirk growing over her face. "They need ships."

"A ship?" Murtagh asked, dubious.

Cat paused as she stared at him intensely, thoughtfully. Holding a finger up, she narrowed her eyes and leaned into his face. "How much do ye know about the island of Alalëa?"

* * *

Hm…not so sure I really captured Murtagh real well here, but I'll have another chance in some of the other chapters. Let me know when you **review**! Please! 

THANK YOU reviewers from last chapter! You made my day!

**Selenafanfic**: Thank you. :) I hope you like the plot once it unravels.

**Itineris**: I'm sorry about that, although I also added one in here too. I felt like I had to throw one in there every once in a while, considering that Glaw and Cat are thieves/beggars/pirates and that's how they typically talk. But I'm glad you liked it so far anyway, thank you very much. :)


	3. The King and His Men

A/N: Shorter chapter, but it's just an intro to our wonderful second main character. I haven't completely edited it all the way, so, like in all the other chapters, there may be a few tweaks later down the road. I won't change the dialoge or anything like that, so you won't be missing any important info or anything. If it does come to that, I'll make sure to let everyone know. :-P

Anyway, _**PLEASE REVIEW**_!! And thank you thank you reviewers from last chapter(s)! I luv you!

Heh, anyway...

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**THE KING AND HIS MEN **

_Aberon, Surda

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_The arid Surdan breeze swept through the dusty streets of Aberon, battering merchant's tarps and breathing life into the laundry hanging on lines between the buildings. A pack of young boys raced through the narrow, crowded marketplace, kicking a canvas-covered ball and shouting raucous commands. They tore through the crowds, oblivious, until one of them collided with a tall, slender woman in their way.

The boy stopped, and so did all of the boys behind him. He glanced up into the piercing eyes of the woman, muttering an apology. "Sorry, ma'am," he said.

Her eyes combed him before she replied. "Yes, you are."

Frowning uncertainly, the boy backed up a few steps, his eyes on hers, then darted away. A river of children followed suit, flowing around the stoic lady without as much as a second glance. She watched them as they went, turning halfway around with a slightly amused smile on her lips. Her fingers burrowed into the folds of her thick desert headdress, finding a smooth, glossy surface to stroke. The surface stirred, and if anyone had been watching, they would have noticed a glittering, golden snake slithering over her shoulder.

_Time'sss ticking, Trianna, _hissed a serpentine voice in the woman's head. _He will be waiting for you, and you know that he won't be happy with you if you're late. _

_He's never happy with me unless I'm in his bed, Logra, _replied the woman—Trianna—rather sourly.

_It's worked for you in the passst, _sneered the snake.

Trianna scowled and ignored her cohort, swiveling back around and continuing to make her way along the streets. Her eyes raked through the shops that lined the street, striving to find a tavern that was supposed to be there. She didn't know the name of it, but from what she had found out thus far, it wasn't a common thing to find a tavern on the market-side of Aberon. She began to feel desperate as she approached an intersection, where the crowds thinned and allowed her to see her surroundings more clearly. Finally she saw it.

A small, squeaky wooden sign was the only thing that made _The Leaping Dwarf Tavern_ stand out on its withered street. At the sight of it, Trianna glided to a stop and stared, her face wrought with a humored, incredulous expression. She studied it for a moment or two, stroking the top of Lorga's head. "_The_ _Leaping Dwarf_?" she finally asked, giving a chuckle when she noticed the engraving of what appeared to be a very hairy child next to the letters on the sign.

_Let us pray that it isssn't as menacing as itsss name impliesss_, the serpent said with a hint of sarcasm. Trianna smiled as she shook her head, pressing the pads of her fingers to the top of the creature's head, gently tucking him into the folds of headdress. Shooting a cautious look at suspicious pedestrians, she wriggled off of the road, muttering halfhearted apologies as she heaved herself onto the walk in front of the tavern. She tiptoed over and hid in the afternoon shadow beside the tavern, her hand finding Lorga again. Her blue eyes cautiously scanning the crowds before her, she whispered a few words—her lips barely moving—and felt the snake solidify on her upper arm. She gave the townsfolk one last look-over and then adjusted her headdress, pruning herself as she trotted casually up the _Dwarf_'s stairs and pushed the door open.

Trianna half-expected to walk into the tavern and find a band of dwarves or circus people waiting for her across the room, but was surprised when she was confronted with something completely different. Her mouth parted with dubious shock, her eyes scanning over what looked like _The Dwarf_'s regular host of patrons: quiet, rumpled, and half-shaven men, underprivileged deadbeats, and a sprinkle of old folks—all sitting alone in various corners. The room itself was quiet and conservative, the only lighting coming from the shuttered windows around the room. In fact, the place seemed to be more like an eatery than anything, and the sorceress immediately felt out of place.

"Trianna," said a voice, followed by someone grabbing her arm with unwarranted strength.

The addressed woman immediately turned away from the lazy patrons, giving a start as her eyes rested on a whiskered, turbaned man at her side. Viciously, she ripped her arm away and shoved her hand into the folds of her dress, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger. Her eyes had remained on the man at all times, but until now she hadn't noticed a raised scar slicing over his contorted eye. A flame of recognition flared in her mind. "Raghu Flann?" she breathed with surprise, her harsh expression melting away.

Raghu smiled waywardly and pulled away the collar of his tunic to reveal half of his chest, and a black handprint stamped on it. "Aye," he said huskily.

The sorceress's face was suddenly wrought with fear, and she smacked his chest with her hands and wrenched the tunic back over the handprint. She glowered at him. "You should know better than to reveal yourself in the public eye," she snapped quietly. "Especially in a place like this." She gestured disdainfully at the quiet tavern.

Raghu returned her glower. "There is no harm here. This is one of the most unsuspecting establishments in all of Aberon," he said, his voice raspy and tainted with a Northern accent.

"My point exactly," hissed the sorceress.

_I thought you sssaid thisss was one of the king's mossst prized asssasssinsss, _said Lorga, startling Trianna with his voice. Even in his stagnant state, the magical creature was still able to communicate through the woman's mind.

Concealing the surprise in her face, she replied, _He is. Now hush, Lorga, you're distracting me._

_He'sss not much to be dissstracted from, _sneered Lorga, but receded into silence.

Raghu had been regarding the sorceress closely. Finally he spoke, his voice nearly a whisper. "No one will suspect us, Trianna. They'll simply assume that we're one of the new Varden misfits." His smile was chilling and ruthless.

But Trianna was not so convinced. "You may not be a major threat here yet," she snarled, "but I could be hanged if I were spotted with an imperial criminal such as yourself. And after today's disastrous events…"

Raghu put is thick, calloused finger to Trianna's lips, smiling almost sarcastically. "Let's sit," he said, extending his arm in a parody of a gentleman.

Trianna watched him cautiously as he turned away and wrapped his other arm around her, pushing her along towards tavern's darkest corner. Her eyes shifted between him and the curious patrons, but once they reached their table, she turned her attentions back to him and settled into the opposite chair. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted as one of the barmaids delivered their drinks, her gaze lingering on their faces a moment too long. But their stern expressions seemed to generate enough fright in the girl, for she quickly rounded on her heel and scuttled away.

"Now," Raghu said, leaning on the table, "what have you to report?"

Trianna didn't look up from her drink, her finger stirring it absentmindedly. "Nothing you haven't already heard," she said. Her eyes flickered up, staring at him sharply from beneath her lashes. "You do realize the gravity of this situation, don't you? Due to today's regrettable accident, we have been exposed and will be hunted down like vermin. Do you understand how detrimental that is to the project?"

"Once she was killed, we would have been exposed anyway. What's the problem?" said Raghu.

"The problem is that she _wasn't_ killed," Trianna said. "Besides, the attempt should never have been made. Especially under such unstable circumstances…"

Raghu frowned. "What unstable circumstances?"

"That queer witch child, Elva. She can predict these things—she was the one who saved Nasuada, as it happened," she said. Her voice dropped. "Because of that, Nasuada is alive and has assigned me to the duty of ferreting out and annihilating the rest of the Black Hand. Of course,"—Trianna gave a small smile and chuckled grimly—"we both know that may pose a bit of a problem."

Raghu's face was clenched with thought, his bad eye twitching. "Yes," he said, not at all amused. "But the child…she can forecast death, you say? So she will know whether you manage to 'annihilate' anyone or not?" He looked to Trianna in a way that told her that by "anyone" he meant Nasuada. A spidery tingle rippled up her spine.

"Yes, that's right," she said. "But the Lady is not the problem—I don't have a need to dispose of her any time soon. It's the child. She'll_ know_. If she never senses the death of one of the Black Hand, then she will assume that something is amiss; that I'm not doing my duty. And if I am exposed, that in itself could spoil everything."

"Then we must dispose of the child," Raghu concluded.

"No!" Trianna nearly shouted, but when the entire tavern glanced her way, she relaxed. "I mean: no, we can't kill her. Not now." She sighed and leaned onto the table, her face looking particularly deadly beneath the rays of sun that struck it. "Listen to me, Raghu: It's not safe for the organization to remain here anymore. Your only choice is to evacuate and let me handle this one on my own."

"That's not in accordance to Galbatorix's plans," replied his annoyed voice. "He will not be pleased."

"I'm certain that Drail's reckless behavior this afternoon was not in accordance with his plans, either," snapped Trianna. "But if you do not get the Black Hand out of Aberon, you _will_ be sought out and destroyed, whether it's by me or not. How do you think Galbatorix will feel about that?"

"Trianna," the man said, "you _know_ you cannot manage this one alone. Galbatorix specifically stated—"

"I have the Du Vrangr Gata," Trianna interrupted. "Most of them, anyways. The problematic ones will be disposed of…shortly." A white smile flashed briefly beneath her headdress.

Raghu was thoroughly discontented, and it showed. He eyed the woman with his scarred eye, chilling the marrow in her bones. "And how long do you expect them to wriggle beneath your thumb?" he asked harshly. "How long do you expect it will be before they turn to that boy, the Rider? _He's_ the maestro here, Trianna. Not you."

The sorceress's eyes flashed dangerously as she bolted up from her seat, knocking over the table with a thunderous crash. She glowered at the man wrathfully before she thrust out her hand, her fingers curling as if they were wrapped around his thick neck. Simultaneously, a strong, invisible force slammed against Raghu's neck and pinned him against the wall, replacing his disgruntled expression with one of profound pain. As he clawed helplessly at the force choking him, Trianna slowly walked forward, increasing the pressure against the man's throat with each step.

She stood next to him for many moments, her arm twisted and her fingers stiff. She stared at him as he thrashed and struggled, then finally leaned against him, putting her lips to his ear. "If you know what's best for you," she whispered ominously, "you _will_ get the Black Hand out of Aberon, or else be prepared to suffer the consequences. And we wouldn't want to endure another punishment, now would we?" Her long, slender finger trailed the scar that slithered over his eye. The man shivered at the touch and twitched his head with a laborious nod. Trianna smiled pointedly.. "Very good," she said. "Now, Lorga, if you would be so kind… _s__é orúm thornessa hávr sharjalví lífs._"

And the last thing the man saw before unconsciousness was the hypnotizing crimson of Lorga's spiraling eyes.

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**PLEASE REVIEW!!**

Tallacus: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. :-)

Alsdssg: Well, at the moment, Cat wants to go to Alalea to settle her debt with Glaw. She has some money she owes him, so...BUT, later in the story, Cat ends up needing to go to Alalea for a totally different reason. That's a few chapters away, tho. ;-)

Also, Catahe is pronounced CAT-UH-HAY.


	4. Thieves and Beggars

A/N: Gah, it took me like 15 thousand times to write this chapter, and it still didn't come out all that great. The end dialogue is kind of weak because I just wanted to get this up already, but oh well. Let me know what you think...**review**!

Oh, and btw: _**Merry Christmas**_!**

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**

**THIEVES AND BEGGARS**

_Teirm, the Empire_

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The greasy oil lamps that dangled from the ceiling of the _Drunken Captain _cast a mere glow on the dark tavern, their flames quivering nearly to the point of extinction. The tavern was on the coastal side of Teirm, where impoverished sailors came to further deflate their purses through drinking and gambling. It smelled strongly of fish and salt and body odor, and the pungent scent a harlot's perfume was more noticeable than that of ale. Not that it was in any short supply, for each man in the tavern had at least one in his hand, although more of it was spilled on the floor than consumed. It was a swinish establishment, to be sure, but that in itself did not sway a certain pirate from blending into the scene with her own bottle of rum.

Cat sat hunched over the tavern's bar, her untouched drink in one hand and a yellowed slip of paper in the other. She sat staring at the random engravings on the counter's rotting wood, her outward appearance giving off the look of a dejected loner. But on the inside, her mind was whirling and thrashing with thoughts and plots, her eyes glittering as she tried to cleverly piece together what the best plan of action was in her current state. Finally, she let loose a weary sigh and frowned deeply, looking up at the bulging kegs across from her. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were directed at a shadowy man at her side rather than the rum that faced her.

"Ye know, Murtagh," she said, her voice tinted with frustration, "I don' really think I need a babysitter." She swiveled around on her stool, glaring reproachfully at the man.

Murtagh sighed and looked at her, frowning as well. "Well, forgive me if I don't exactly trust you yet, considering who you are and what you do. I think it's in my best interests to make sure you will hold up your end of the bargain."

Cat smiled with sour sarcasm. "Why's that? Do ye distrust me expertise?"

"No," he replied, "I distrust your integrity."

The pirate's smile grew wider as she focused momentarily on the floor below her. "Well," she said, looking back up, "as long as ye got my 250 gold crowns and the key to a ship, ye don' have to worry 'bout my integrity."

The man stared back at her with a clearly un-amused expression, and after a moment of silence, he leaned in and parted his lips to retort. But his words were cut short when a loud and boisterous voice barged into the conversation,

"Catahe Dowell, is that you, lassie?" exclaimed the bar's owner, leaning onto the countertop from the other side. "Why, it is you, isn't it? I'd recognize that mop o' flames on yer head any day!"

Murtagh smiled slightly when he saw the woman's face drop, and he immediately retreated back into the shadows to allow her a smidgen of privacy. "'Ello, Wilben," Cat said finally, turning lazily to face him. She smiled with pained sweetness, an expression Murtagh wasn't used to seeing from her.

Wilben smiled and shook his head, the fat beneath his chin quivering. He leaned back and continued to wipe down mugs and cups, his grin never faltering. "An' 'ow you been, little lady? You know, the last I 'eard o' you, they were sayin' you'd been taken into that big ol' fortress down yonder. They said you were locked up an' had an appointment with the gallows!" He laughed heartily.

Cat leaned her elbows on the counter and pulled out the slip of paper in her hand. "Well, ye got half o' it right," she said. She flipped the paper around to reveal neatly written handwriting, glinting in the oily light. A devious smile formed on her lips. "I made a deal."

Wilben stopped scrubbing and stared with awe, then lashed out and grabbed the paper. "Well, tie me up 'n' call me a turkey—it's a pardon!" he gasped, examining the slip. "Why, these be a rare things 'round here, missy. Especially when you have a reputation like yours. Who'd be willin' to let a criminal like you out on the loose?" He smiled briefly and handed the paper back to Cat, who tucked it away safely in her vest. Her eyes then flickered to Murtagh, watching silently as he took a casual sip of his alcohol. Wilben's head snapped to him. "Oh," he said, then smiled wryly and winked at Cat. "So you got yourself a new _underling_, eh?"

Murtagh choked on his drink and slammed down his mug, drawing Cat's eyes to him again. She smirked and said—partially to herself—"So it would seem."

Chuckling along with Wilben, she wrapped her hand around her own drink and took a minute sip of it, suddenly ensnared in deep thought. But just as the fiery liquid lapped against her tongue, the tavern's lights dimmed and the chilly night breeze wafted into the room, slicing right through Cat's threadbare costume. Wilben's merry face melted away with a look of distaste and he pounded his semi-clean cup on the counter, tossing away his rag. "Best get out the strong stuff, wit' that fella here," he sighed, staring at whoever was entering the tavern. He met Cat's bemused gaze and raised his brows, nodding towards the front door on the opposite side of the room. She frowned and twisted around in her seat to see who exactly the bartender was talking about.

Three burly sailors stood in the tavern's entrance, their presence hovering like a bulging raincloud over the establishment. They all seemed to be on edge, their eyes darting around as if looking for something—or someone. Cat swallowed painfully and whirled back around in her seat, bowing her head as if it might make her invisible.

Murtagh leaned towards her and whispered, "Are those the men you told me about?"

Cat nodded and peered back over her shoulder, a look of anxiety and determination in her eyes. "I think perhaps it's time fer you to go," she said, not looking at him. "I'll work my magic alone."

Although what she said was meant to lighten their damp moods, there was no hint of amusement in Murtagh's face. He simply remained frozen in his hunched position, his stony brown eyes staring unblinkingly at the pirate. Finally he let loose a heavy sigh and slid back into the shadows, then tossed the bartender two coins. With his mouth stretched in a thin, solemn line, he got to his feet and walked to Cat's side, bowing forward so that he spoke directly into her ear. "Five days," he said, so softly Cat almost didn't hear him over the noise of the tavern. "Five days, and I expect to see you _and_ that book at the _Braying Donkey_. If you're not, you know the consequences." His dark eyes glittered ominously beneath his mop of brown hair, endorsing the seriousness in his voice. But when Cat's only response was an emotionless stare, he cleared his throat and wrapped his fingers around his sword hilt, then disappeared into the milling crowd of drunken patrons.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here, mates? The livin', breathin' Catahe Dowell, standing right here in front of us. What a privilege, eh?"

That worn, tattered voice sent prickly shivers up Cat's spine, a feeling of immense regret and dread instantly swamping over her. With an air of caution, she turned her eyes away from where Murtagh had gone, goosebumps trailing up her skin as she stood and faced one of the sailors she had seen in the entrance. He was nearly two heads taller than she was, and he was smiling with a hate Cat hadn't remembered seeing in ages. A chortle eased up his throat and he crossed his arms with intimidation, making the pirate wish she hadn't sent Murtagh away after all. "You know," he said, "I'd always imagined you'd be a little cuter, wit' your nice picture on your wanted poster an' all."

Cat felt her knees turn to wax with fear, but somehow managed to hide it behind a blasé expression. "Well, Mr. Uthar, can't say I didn't think the same thing 'bout you," she said, smiling sweetly.

The sailor, Uthar, was now void of any humor. He took a threatening step forward. "Don't overstep your line, you little bitch. I should kill you on the spot," he said, the sallow lantern light giving his face a sinister look.

Cat's smile weakened and she propped her hands on her hips to stop their shaking. "Well, that wouldn't do much good, now would it? Wit'out me, I should think we'd both be at quite an unsatisfyin' loss," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

The smile grew a little more confidant as Cat began to weave her web. "I'm talkin' about _incentive_, mate. _Compensation_. See, there's been a little somethin' I've been itchin' to talk to ye about, but if you be insistin' on killin' me, then—" she said, but was interrupted by Uthar as he seized his rusty cutlass and aimed it at her neck. Her eyes swelled with surprise and she raised her hands in honest surrender, and she almost fell as the man backed her against the bar. His face was rigid with solemnity, and for a terrifying moment, Cat thought he might actually kill her.

Nearly the whole tavern was watching them as Uthar explained himself. "Don't play games with me, Dowell," he snarled quietly. "Don't try to trick me into another one of your crafty little schemes. I've seen what your ships have done to Jeod Longshanks. It's nigh killed him. It's nigh killed _me_. And now it's time for a little retribution…"

Cat smiled nervously and tentatively petted the tip of the sword. "Oh," she said, and gave a feeble chuckle. "I had rather hoped we were passed all that."

Uthar returned her smile, but his was wrought with more cynicism than nervousness. "I'm afraid not," he replied. His grip tightened on the sword.

Suddenly Wilben was back in the picture, hollering and cursing as he emerged from the backroom. There was another rag waggling in his hand as he careened towards the fight, but it didn't faze Uthar. Not even having the bartender in his ear shouting about his tavern's righteousness and morality kept him from pressing the edge of the blade against Cat's throat. "Time to pay," he sneered.

Cat squeezed her eyes closed and prayed fervently that the gods would make her invisible, but just as she thought she felt the prick of the cutlass on her throat, the sound of shattering glass filled her ears. Warily, she peeked her left eye open, the fear in her mind turning into incredulity as she watched Uthar's face deadpan and his body fall limply to the ground. And standing just beside him was Wilben, a splintered bottle of rum in his hand and a look of utter disgust on his face.

Cat took a minute to allow herself to breathe, then pushed herself off of the bar and squatted slowly, staring with a hint of humor at Uthar's contorted face. He lay hissing in pain, his hands cupped around the bleeding crown of his head. Cat perched her elbows on her knees and watched him until he noticed she was there, at which point she mustered up her confidence and said, "So…ye wanna talk about that incentive now?"

And then the sailor promptly lost consciousness.

* * *

The world was a mesh of colors and smells when Uthar came to, and the only thing that was really clear to him seemed to be the intense throbs hammering his head. An exasperated groan escaped his lips as he shifted in his splintery wooden chair, then brought his hands to his head in an attempt to null the pain. But for some reason they wouldn't budge, and appeared to be bound in their position behind his back. Apprehension seized the sailor's mind as he tried again, more vehemently this time, but to the same result. His heartbeat grew swift and his breath ragged as he tried over and over again, but it was to no avail. It became apparent that he had been taken hostage, and whoever had done it was not in the mood for games.

After several minutes of thrashing, Uthar finally gave up and hunched forward, resting his eyes on the table in front of him. His belongings and a bottle of rum sat there before him, and as he focused his attention on the half-empty bottle, he realized he could see a figure watching him from the other end of the table. Squinting, his leaned forward a bit more, his eyes widening as he realized who it was. Although distorted through the glass, it was clear that the person was none other than Catahe Dowell, her face warped with such smugness Uthar couldn't help but bristle with hatred. Once she noticed that she had been spotted, she smiled and leaned forward, moving the bottle out of the man's face and allowing him to see her clearly. A growl began low in his throat as she spoke.

"Welcome back, sunshine," she said. Uthar immediately lashed out at her with predictable wrath, making her smile die and the rest of her retreat back into her seat. She watched with raised brows as he followed suit, the lantern light casting a dangerous glow on his face. She attempted to chuckle, but failed. "I don' think I deserved that," she said. "'Twas Wilben that knocked ye cold, not me. If ye can remember, I was the one sandwiched 'tween you 'n' the countertop 'bout to be decapitated. I wasn't 'bout to make any sudden moves."

"But I'll take the liberty to assume that it was you that tied me to this chair and stuck me in this corner," Uthar snarled.

Cat stood and held up a finger, dragging her chair to Uthar's side. "Actually," she said, "that was yer very own crew-people. Although they _were_ bein' threatened by Wilben, so I s'pose you could blame that on 'im too." When the man only replied with a stern expression, Cat took a small sip of the rum and changed the subject. "Now, before ye tried to end me earlier, I was in the middle o' askin' you something—"

"Listen, Dowell, I don't want anything to do with you or any o' your sly little scams," Uthar interrupted. "I've suffered the consequences o' too many o' them."

But Cat was relentless. "Do ye know o' the _Domia abr Wyrda_?" she asked softly.

Uthar was growing annoyed. "What?"

"The _Domia abr Wyrda_?" she repeated. "It's a certain book a certain chum o' yers has in 'is possession. It's very…dear to me."

Although Uthar didn't want to admit it, he was a little intrigued. "By 'chum', you mean Jeod?" he asked, and Cat nodded. "He's told me about that book; s'posed to be the last o' its type. What would an illiterate harlot like you want with a priceless piece of writing like that?"

There was an edgy look in Cat's eye as she leaned towards him. "How much do ye know of Alalëa?"

Uthar's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I know that it's but a sailor's fairy tale," he said. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, don't waste your time. It's not real."

The woman smiled cattishly. "But no one knows that fer sure, do they?" she asked. "Nobody but that book."

"_I_ know for sure," Uthar snapped, but then paused with an uncomfortable look on his face. "Listen, Cat, I was jus' like you once, before I started ferryin' goods from Jeod to the Varden. A young, restless cap'ain of me own ship, I was, ready to see more of the world than this." He motioned to the bustling tavern around them, then turned serious eyes back to the pirate. "I know for sure because _I_ tried to find it too. I was taken by the stories o' treasure and riches behind a man's wildest imagination, and sailed the seas for two years lookin' for it. But I paid the price for my foolish naivety. My men…they mutinied me in the middle o' nowhere, sayin' I was crazy to be lookin' for something that didn't exist. They left me, Dowell; I was left stranded. I stayed on that island for days before Jeod's merchant ship happened upon me, which is when he took me under 'is wing an' gave me a job." He drew a shaky breath. "Don't make the same mistake as I did, Catahe. Don't chase something that you know will never be."

Cat stared back at him, almost shocked, as they sat in a prolonged silence. "I didn't ask for yer worldly advice, Mr. Uthar," she finally remarked. "All I'm asking for…is a compromise."

Uthar sighed with exasperation. "Dowell, were ye listenin—"

"If I promise to never aim a canon in yer direction again, will ye get me that book?" the pirate interrupted, her hand delving into her vest, shuffling around to find her dagger.

The man watched her hand with caution. "If you want to sail to the end of the earth and into oblivion, have it your way, but I refuse to use deceit to help you. You're asking me to betray a loyal friend and steal something from him that he cherishes. I'm sorry, mate, but I ain't you. I don't think I can do that."

Her knife glistened in the sallow light as she extracted it, flourishing it in front of her brooding face. "No worries," she finally said. "I didn't think an _honorable_, _woman-slayin'_ man like yerself would oblige anyway. But I think I have a proposition that might ease yer conscious a bit…" Her eyes flickered up to meet his, a foxy smirk on her lips. "Get me to Longshanks's humble abode, an' I'll call it a deal. Maybe I'll even throw in a morsel of that Alalëan treasure, hm?" She stood. "Do we have an accord?"

_Alalëan treasure… _Uthar was silent for many long moments before he gave a winded sigh and hung his head in dejection. "Yes," he managed to murmur, squeezing his face together as if the word hurt him. "Just…just promise to take that one book, nothing else. Haven't you done enough to the poor man already?"

Cat's smile grew into a grin as she gripped her knife and walked around to the back of Uthar's chair, easing the blade beneath the knot that held the rows of rope together. With a grunt and a forceful jerk, she sliced through the knot and let the ropes cascade to the ground, setting the sailor free. His whole body relaxed and he immediately brought his reddened hands to his face, doubling over in self-loathing. Smiling still, Cat leaned over into his ear, her lips brushing against it as she spoke. "Tomorrow night," she whispered. "Be here."

* * *

**_REVIEW PLEASE!_**

AdriaDara -- Awesome. Let me know what you think of the other chapters!

padfootROX -- Thanks! I love that name too, that's why I chose it. : P As for Trianna...well, I guess the whole point of that chapter was to confuse you, haha. In it, I tried to hint that she was kind of double-playing the Varden. You'll find out more later, tho. : )


	5. A Pirate's Life's for Me

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* * *

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A PIRATES LIFES FOR ME

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed three.

Cat swallowed her rum jadedly, letting loose a weary, defeated sigh. Her palm rubbed against her filthy forehead as she tried to console her uprising frustration, her hand sliding over her face in a pathetic attempt to stay awake. It would be dawn soon, and Uthar had yet to arrive at the _Drunken Captain_.

The sound of giggling drew Cat's exhausted eyes to one of the tavern's darkened corners, where Murtagh sat entertaining a coquettish prostitute. Even through her caking of cosmetics, Cat could tell that the harlot was rather homely, her plain figure drowning in an array of cheap jewelry and thin clothes. The girl laughed gaudily as Murtagh murmured something to her, stroking her arm and tempting her to lean closer. And she did, her collection of faded necklaces brushing against him with as much seduction as she could muster. Murtagh smiled and turned his eyes to Cat, who only rolled her eyes and scowled, turning back to her drink and bristling with irritation.

Wilben was suddenly before her, a dirty rag and splintered mug in hand. His sleepy eyes were frowning at the two in the corner, his lips pursed with disdain. "Call me crazy," he said, "but I can't 'elp but think of that feller Morzan every time I look at that young'un. Looks jus' like 'im, don' 'e?"

Cat glanced up at the bartender with a startled expression, her lips parted and her eyes glazed over with a look the man couldn't quite place. "Morzan?" she repeated, her voice dry and raspy.

"Sure," Wilben said, nodding. "Why, don' you think so?"

Cat swiveled around on the stool to stare at Murtagh, swallowing hard as she watched him laugh and coddle the skimpy prostitute. Her palms grew clammy and her heartbeat rocketed, the sensation overcoming her so rapidly it frightened her.

"I never though' about it," she finally concluded, sounding weak and uncertain.

"Well, I s'pose 'e was before your time anyways. Fortunately, as most would say." He laughed, giving her a paternal clap on the shoulder. "You may've 'eard stories about the bastard, but ye haven't known anythin' about him 'til you actually seen 'im, you know? A bit like you, I suppose." He laughed again, more heartily this time, and waddled away, murmuring beneath his breath good-humoredly. But Cat didn't move—couldn't move—and just stared blankly at Murtagh, looking as if she had just been walloped across the face with a plank of wood. She was numb, the same thought crossing her mind over and over again.

_Morzan_.

The tavern door slammed open, shattering Cat's stupor. A deathly silence settled over the empty establishment as everyone in it turned to stare at the figure in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the floor like a rug. Murtagh sobered at the sight of him and shifted from beneath the prostitute on his lap, his gaze flickering to Cat. Her eyes met his as she slid off of her stool, her accessories jingling as she approached the newcomer.

"Uthar," she said accusingly, turning her attentions to the doorway. "Ye're late."

Uthar's unmistakable bulk appeared in the room, the sallow lantern light bleeding over him. He glanced between the pirate and Murtagh with obvious discomfort, frowning incredulously at the girl perched on Murtagh's lap. His gaze lingered on them for a prolonged moment. "I know," he said finally, looking back to Cat slowly. "I…I must've overslept. Forgive me." His last words seemed to be glazed with sarcasm, a small smile flickering beneath his whiskers.

"Some'ow I find that hard to believe," Cat muttered, letting her eyes drift to the two adolescents in the corner as well, pleased to find that the prostitute was hiding Murtagh's face behind her scrawny frame.

Uthar cleared his throat. "Well," he said, disregarding Cat's previous remark, "we don' have all night, do we? We have…business to attend to." He gestured at the door.

Cat smiled. "Aye," she said. "Business."

Tossing a few coins of payment onto the tavern's table, Cat picked up her bottle of rum, sipping it as she followed Uthar to the door. He opened it with uncharacteristic gentleness, then disappeared silently into the inky darkness outside. Cat trailed behind him, He opened it, allowing the cold night air to sweep into the tavern and extinguish a few weak lantern flames, enswathing most of the establishment in shadows. Uthar looked briefly unnerved by it, but when his eyes flickered back to an incredulous Cat, he quickly hid his emotions and hurried out into the nighttime. The woman followed suit, her hand gripping the doorknob as she passed through the threshold, pausing only to glance over her shoulder at Murtagh, She watched him with a perturbed expression as he finally submitted to his harlot's wishes, a wide, satisfied grin growing on his lips. She shivered.

_Morzan_.

Sighing cynically and pushing her troubling thoughts to the back of her mind, Cat sauntered out into the night and closed the door behind her, taking another sip of her rum as she did so. But as she brought the bottle to her lips, she noticed suddenly that she was surrounded by at least a dozen strapping men, all brandishing hefty clubs and bearing a multitude of scars. Swallowing nervously, she lowered her bottle carefully and took a step back, only to collide with a hard, solid wall of flesh. She gave a small yelp of surprise, but she was immediately silenced as the person grabbed her around the waist and placed an ominously sharp dagger at her neck. Her bottle of rum fell to the ground, the sound of it shattering like an explosion radiating throughout the quiet streets.

Cat froze. "Can I 'elp you gents this fine evenin'?" she asked shakily.

The person holding her hostage wrenched her closer, the knife piercing her skin threateningly. She hissed in pain. "Hush up, wench," the man growled. "Ya won't speak 'til yar spoken to, understand?"

"Easy on 'er, Pau," an unseen man instructed. "I don' want her dead before we're done with 'er."

Cat knew that voice. She gritted her teeth and scowled as she began to struggle angrily, her hands grasping the dagger at her neck. "Uthar!" she snarled. "Uthar, you…you bastard!" She tried to lash out, but Pau's hold on her was firm. "Ye set me up!"

Uthar materialized out of the dark crowd, the dim street light illuminating his smiling face. He strode casually up to her, his eyes hooded arrogantly and his hand stroking his braided goatee. "Oh, Dowell," he cooed, "don' be like that, love. This little gathering of ours is simply an act of—how did you put it before?—_compensation_." His smile widened and he chuckled. "Ye didn't _actually_ expect me to let you browbeat me into submission that easily, now did ye? You'd 'ave to blind me wit' more than talk o' treasure and idle threats to accomplish that."

Chuckles rippled through the shady crowd, but they were abruptly interrupted by Cat slipping her hand beneath Pau's beefy arm and ripping her dagger out of her vest. With her hair hindering her vision, she lobbed the weapon in Uthar's direction, hoping it would catch him in the chest. But instead it whizzed towards his shoulder, where he managed to nonchalantly catch it before impact. With a sly smirk, he brought it to his face and examined it, then bent the old blade and tossed it to the ground. Infuriated, Cat began to shout at him in protest, but not before Pau could bring his knife harder against her throat and pull her arms painfully behind her.

After she had quieted, Uthar took a step forward, kicking her maimed weapon towards her mockingly. "Admirable try," he said, "but I wouldn't suggest tryin' it again. At least, not 'fore we get a chance to talk about our deal."

"What deal?" Cat spat. "We 'ave no deal anymore, Uthar. Unless I'm misinterpretin' the meaning o' all this commotion, which I doubt."

"No, I mean _another_ deal," Uthar said. "A 'mutual agreement', I s'pose you could call it."

Cat glared at him for many moments on end, her mind pacing. "What's in yer head?" she finally asked.

Uthar seemed pleased with that, and rewarded her by giving Pau permission to release her. Pau did so with a disappointed frown, but kept his knife aimed at her back lest she tried anything tricky.

"An eye for an eye," Uthar said simply, approaching Cat slowly. "You help me, an' I'll help you. You be needin' a ship, right?"

"I've got one," Cat snapped. "Once I get me that book, anyway. That's all I need, Uthar. That_ book_."

Uthar came to a stop about a foot away from her. "Unimportant," he said. "That book is jus' a bonus for you…if you do everything right, that is. All I need ye to do is be yourself, an' your life and the finest ship in the Empire will be yours. What do you say?"

"I don' know," Cat said, still cautious. "Elaborate."

The man was suddenly annoyed; unwilling to disclose so much to such an untrustworthy woman. "There's a ship in the harbor that I'm helpin' pirate tonight," he finally admitted. "The _Dragon Wing_. She's probably the most beautiful piece craftsmanship in all o' Alagaesia—that goes without sayin'. But stealin' her is no easy venture, so seein' as you profess in that line o' work, I was thinking that you might be of some assistance." He paused briefly as Cat relaxed, a curious gleam growing in her eye. "We're takin' the ship to Surda, and I doubt we'll be needing her once we get there. She's as good as yours, Dowell. Just…do what you do best." He smiled.

Cat frowned and stroked her chin with her finger, imitating thoughtfulness. "So what you're sayin' is that ye want me to pirate a boat, sail it to Surda, an' then _hope_ you'll be generous enough to hand both it and the book over to me?" she asked. She smirked. "Sounds a bit sketchy, mate."

"It's your choice, Dowell," Uthar said. "But I doubt you'll be able to get that book if you don' help me with this. Or else, it'll be mighty hard."

The pirate stared at him with growing suspicion. "There's somethin' you ain't tellin' me, isn't there?" she asked.

"Well, I have a feelin' that you wouldn't oblige wit' the deal if I told ye," Uthar confessed, speaking to her as if she were a mere child.

"Maybe I won't oblige anyways," Cat retaliated, crossing her arms.

Uthar shrugged. "Well, if that's how ye feel about it…" he said, then motioned at her, "…gents, have at 'er."

As Uthar turned his back, his dark crowd of followers chortled and grinned, brandishing their weapons. They exchanged glances with each other as they started to move in on Cat, the grimy light from the tavern bleeding over their malicious faces. Cat felt her heart rocket into her throat and beat wildly, her hands immediately going to her vest to find her dagger. But she didn't remember that it had been confiscated until it was too late, glancing up just as a massive man made of sheer muscle planted himself directly in front of her. She yelped as he slid the blunt side of his blade along her neck, then whirled to face Uthar, who was gradually vanishing into the street.

"So you're jus' goin' to kill me?" she screeched.

Uthar stopped and turned. "I've already told ye too much, Dowell," he said slowly. "Why should I believe ye won't tattle on us? Besides, if you don' want to help me, ye have no use anymore. Apologies. Continue on, men."

The burly sailors started to advance on her again, but she kept them at bay by raising her arms in surrender and shouting, "All right! All right, I'll do it yer way. I'll take the ship—I'll help get ye to Surda. Jus'…jus' don' kill me." She stared wide-eyed at the assortment of sharp objects pointing at her, swallowing painfully. For once in her life she didn't have any plan of escape; couldn't find any loopholes or means of avoidance. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to play it Uthar's way.

It wasn't like Murtagh's plan was any better anyway, she tried to tell herself. In fact, this agreement with Uthar would most likely save her a wad of trouble where Murtagh was concerned. True, he'd promised her a ship too and a good sum of money on the side, but that path seemed just as shaky and untrustworthy as the next. Murtagh was merely a mouth for Galbatorix, after all. She could be betrayed to him at any moment, once her time was done and it was the most beneficial. That thought itself sent chills up her spine.

Uthar was suddenly there before her, wedging a gap in the suffocating crowd. He was smiling, his arm extended and her bent dagger in his hand. She stared at him with wariness as she carefully wrapped her hand around its hilt and took it from him, feeling relieved to be in possession of it again. The man's sneer grew, and he nodded at her.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Dowell."

* * *

The smell of fish grew stronger the longer they crept along the roads, keeping to the shadows as well as they could. Uthar led the way cautiously—his hulking form hardly discreet even in the darkness—with Cat stumbling in her oversized boots just behind him. Her floppy sunhat was pushed down over her brows in an attempt to be inconspicuous, and she had moved her damaged dagger from her vest to her sagging sleeve, where she fiddled with it precariously. The dense darkness of the streets put her on edge, and for the umpteenth time that night, the woman found herself desperately wishing she had some sliver of ability when it came to wielding a blade. 

They were not alone when they reached their designated meeting place. About a dozen scrawny strangers were gathered there in the mists, fidgeting with their heads bowed and hands clenched. At the sight of Uthar and his men, they all took a cautious step back, their sunken eyes reflecting a blend of fear and respect. Their reaction made Cat smirk as she came to a halt beside Uthar, crossing her arms and toying with the dagger up her sleeve. She let her eyes scan over the crowd before her, feeling more or less reassured to see that she wasn't the only one who might weigh less than half of the sailors gathered about her.

That is, all except for one person. A man, the only one who really stood out in the crowd. His presence alone was enough to send butterflies loose in Cat's stomach.

"Jeod Longshanks," she breathed. "I should've known."

* * *

**A/N**: I can't say I'm totally in love with this chapter, even though I did have a little fun writing it. I tried to cram a lot in a little amount of space (sorry, I'm bad about that...if you think I should try and lengthen or shorten my chapters, let me know in your review, please), and I know that there's a lot of loose ends now. If you're confused just **REVIEW**, **please**, and let me know. 

For those who have been reviewing, thank you so much!

padfootROX - Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. The dialogue was kind of hard for me, so it's good to know that it turned out all right.

Fyre of the Funeral Pyre - Thank you! Sorry it took me so long to update!


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